Late Night Incident at a Grocery Store

Late Night Incident at a Grocery Store

Like so many other seemingly insignificant incidents that have occurred around me during my life, this one slipped away for years. I haven't a clue why it resurfaced today? But for some reason, I'm glad it did.

It's past midnight on a Wednesday and I'm at the WInco, a discount grocer not far from my home whose doors conveniently remain open to shoppers 24/7. Located against the rear wall are the huge glass refrigerator units in which perishables and beverages are lined up on grated shelves. After adding a half-gallon jug of 2% milk to my basket, I head toward the checkouts at the front of the store.

But before I can even round the corner a high-pitched wail causes me to glance back over my shoulder.

A man in a rumpled business suit brings the cart he's pushing to an abrupt stop. Inside the cart stands a red-faced toddler, his tiny hands gripping the rail. The man in the business suit crouches, and picks an empty baby bottle up off the floor that had evidently dropped by the toddler. He hands the bottle to the crying child and immediately the child drops it again.

The man in the business suit looks past the child and catches me staring. He shrugs, and gives me a look that is simultaneously embarrassed and frustrated. Meanwhile, the toddler's screaming has grown louder, and his face has gotten redder. Again, the man picks up the discarded empty bottle and tries to give it back to the child. Instead of taking the bottle, though, the child crumples inside the cart. He presses his back flush against one of the cart's wire walls and begins to drive the bottom of his bare feet into the other wall.

The man shouts, "That's enough, Cody! God dammit! Knock it off!"

But the child only becomes more frantic.

Suddenly, the man in the business suit whirls to face the refrigerated unit. He yanks the door open, removes a jug of milk and slams the door shut. After twisting off both the lid of the milk, and the lid of the baby bottle, the man fills the bottle, slopping milk everywhere. He puts the lid back on the bottle and places it in the still crying toddler's hands. The child begins to greedily suck the rubber nipple.

With the child quieted, the man in the business suit leans back against the cold refrigerator door. His knees are slightly bent and beads of sweat are shining off his forehead. He stays like that for several seconds, seemingly calming himself while still holding the jug of milk.

Then, to my surprise, the man straightens, turns around, opens the refrigerator door, and replaces the no-longer-sealed jug of milk on the shelf.

Without glancing my way, he pushes off down the aisle with his quieted child in the cart and disappears around a corner.

Driving home with my handful of groceries in the passenger seat next to me, I can't stop thinking about this guy, clad in his business suit, pushing around a crying kid in a shopping cart, replacing the jug of milk he'd filled the empty bottle with.

Who was he? Why was he at the grocers at such a late hour? Why didn't he just purchase the milk? And most importantly, Where was the child's mother?

Years later I still don't know the answers to these questions. But I do feel I witnessed something important that night. Perhaps something to do with relationships between children and parents, husbands and wives. Maybe something to do with the price of success. Something important happened, albeit, unclear.